Yeah, the Pottery Barn thing? It’s not over. You see, I’ve finally found something I mostly like for Wiggly’s nursery / toddler bed / big-boy bed (yes, I do it all at one time because who has time to do that stuff later?!) – that’s how I ended up there the other day and was sucked into the cuteness that is inescapable. (Which is how The Swimmy ALSO ended up with some new bed stuff…)

What I wanted (Blue Bright Striped Patchwork series, in case you were wondering) was, of course, sold out and on backorder. So, I put myself on the list and lo and behold, a piece came in. But, I was still missing the crib bumper (which? really? is kind of a waste of time, truth be told.)

But! Pottery Barn has found me again. A nice lady in San Antonio, Texas called me today to cheerily announce they could take my money because, Tah Dah!, a bumper has arrived at their store.

Well, okay then! Send it on down, honey! Here’s Husband’s wallet. Take what you need. Ugh.

That concludes this portion of the Great Room Rotation 2006…well, for Wiggly’s room at least. All I’m on the lookout for now is a dresser. Oh. I guess that means it’s not concluded then, huh? Nuts.

This weekend will begin the Arts & Crafts portion of the adventure as I begin taping off the moldings and windows to prep for the Painting Phase. And I’m pretty sure I’ll come home with some test cans of paint to narrow down the exact shade of “red” and “hot pink” that will go up on the walls. (Not in the same room, ew!)

And then? Katie bar the door – the paint’s gonna start flyin’!

Here’s some advice for you: If you are in the middle of nesting urge surge, DO NOT go into a Pottery Barn Kids. Bad things will happen. Or, at least cute things, but things will happen. And these things? Are not free. But sometimes they are on sale, so that’s better.

In other news…

Mom is done with Phase I of her treatment. All the drugs have been taken, the chemo has been handled, the stem cells have been harvested, and they get to get the hell out of Dodge (heretofore known as Little Rock) for two whole weeks. Huzzah! They will drive home tomorrow and I know they are — THIS READY —- to be home.

The past couple of weeks have been especially hard on Mom while she was away. We’ve had a couple of deaths in the family and she feels badly she wasn’t there to support the family. Combine that with a heaping dose of homesickness with a side of pharmaceutical fatigue and, well, you get the picture. This break couldn’t come at a better time.

You can hear the weariness in Mom and Dad’s voices these days, so I hope this trip home will be just what they need to recharge for Phase II of The Battle. I know The Swimmy is looking forward to seeing them. She is starting to have some “behavioral issues” which I believe are directly related to all this. Even though we “talk” to my folks almost everyday or night via videoconference, it’s not the same as getting a hug, and it’s starting to wear on her a bit. Today, for the first time, she verbalized that she missed them. So I was glad to be able to tell her they were on their way home.

And that? Is what’s up today. What’s new in YOUR world?

So, I’m driving home with Husband and The Swimmy this evening from a light dinner. (Husband has been fighting a head cold and we determined this called for soup. We were on a soup quest.)

I’m recounting for Husband my massage exploits of yesterday when I get the distinct feeling, no, URGE, that I suddenly have to pee. At least I think I have to pee. It sure feels that way. Like RIGHT THIS VERY SECOND.

Husband looks at me like I’m really going to pee all over his car seat (which, I believed at that point actually could happen) and I ask him to pull over somewhere nearby so I can go to the bathroom.

I get Husband to pull over pretty immediately into the local ice cream shop. Where I dash in and realize I’m probably going to have to buy something on the way out so I don’t look like a nutcase who entered the establishment walking cross-legged and left upright.

Whatever. I pee, but it doesn’t really fix the problem. I realize it’s Wiggly laying in some cockeyed, screwed up position – probably STANDING on my bladder – and having a good ole time in there.

Let me ask you, is it possible to ground an infant the moment he’s born? ‘Cause I’m thinking his bassinet in the hospital is going straight to the time out corner.

Pfft.

I had a marvelous first time experience today: a pre-natal massage. MILtastic had bought me a lovely gift certificate for Hanukah and today was the day I decided to cash that bad boy in.

Now, I’ve had massages before, but not in this type of physical state. There is something distinctly different about lying naked, covered with a thin sheet of cotton, ass-up and belly down in a hole in the table. It went as expected, but there were a few moments when I thought, “You know, I’m not so sure that particular area of my body needs to be rubbed or moisturized… I’m pretty sure there is no tension in my ass…”

But, then? WOO! A knot was found. Who knew? I also found out that I apparently carry all the tension in the world including the reason for the middle east crisis in my left shoulder and shoulder blade. OOOOWWWWwwwww. Not so relaxing, but then… Ahhhh. Whew. A lovely experience.

Earlier that day, Husband and I took the Swimmy to her weekly swimming lessons. I gotta tell ya, for a timid kid that’s only been swimming for roughly 12 days, she’s really rockin’ that pool.

Husband was getting a real kick out of watching her float in straddle position (a new technique she’s invented) and dive under the water. I got a huger (yes, it’s a word) kick out of watching The Swimmy flirt with her first swimming instructor, Mr. Jordan.

Let me repeat. The Swimmy was FLIRTING with her first swimming instructor. Openly. And with flair. She had the smile, dimple and eyelash batting working. The only thing she couldn’t work was the Hair Flip + Giggle because her hair was wet and in a pony tail.

It was a site to see. As one of my favorite bloggers, The Corsair, says, her pimp hand was strong.

Even Husband was laughing, but somewhere in the back of our minds was….”Oh, no… I feel sorry for some little 5 year old boy somewhere in this world right now who has no idea WHAT’s about to hit him later in life.”

Good luck to ya, my boy.

Remember when the dog exploded? Me, too. Well, it wasn’t enough that I had to immediately call the carpet cleaners and outlay, oh, $300 to get the biology lab out of my hallway and TV room, it appears the dog has now taken a liking to the left over smell of the hallway and is now drawn to, uh, PEE THERE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT.

YES.

I cannot tell you how many wet spots I’ve stepped in during the wee hours of the morning while wandering aimlessly to find another spot to sleep (Husband is working through some snoring issues due to sleep apnea). And after squish number 4, I’d had enough.

Bring back the carpet cleaners!

Yes (lowercase). I called them to explain the dog situation (which I swear caused muffled giggling on the other end of the phone) and asked them to come back to re-clean the hallway. She gave me the (again: ridiculous) minimum price to come out and said that we could do three rooms for that (ridiculous) price.

So, I did the only thing I could do. I justified this under the “Great Room Rotation of 2006” plan since there are two bedrooms that could definitely use some carpet cleaning attention. But now this has thrown my budget for this little project off and my pre-nesting instinct is turning into “Shit how am I going to accomplish this” stress.

I was up from 2am to 4am trying to work through a mental spreadsheet. Because I can bring the crazy. And at 2am? I can fry it up in a pan.

And so, I’ve come to the conclusion that if the dog pees in the hallway after this, I have two choices: replace the carpet or replace the dog.

And matching the dye lot on the carpet is gonna be way too hard. So, if the dog wants to stay, her ass better be cruising the want ads for a J.O.B. ‘Cause they’ll be no love for a Pfluftagus who leaks any longer.

GAH.

When Husband and I got married, we did the typical “go register” thing and picked out dishes, glasses, blah, blah, blah, and silverware. The every day silverware was nothing outrageous, but I liked that it was large and “European sized”.

We had 12 place settings. I say HAD because over the years some of it has disappeared – usually by the hands of a mischevious or destructive child.

Recently, I was unloading the dishwasher, I realized that my smaller teaspoons no longer added up to 12. In fact, it was more like 8.

Huh?

Some of the knives had gone missing years ago when ArtsyDaughter either hid it in a drawer or G-d only knows what else. I think one got thrown away because it was crusted up with leftover brownie and it was easier to throw it away than clean it.

Makes sense.

But the spoons? This was a new one, and ArtsyDaughter doesn’t live here any more. I know it’s not the cleaning service – we’ve had them for as long as we’ve been in a house and they’ve never taken anything. So? What gives.

The mystery was solved last night. The Swimmy had yogurt for dessert. When she was done, I asked her to put her yogurt cup in the trash.

I’m guessing because the spoon was still in the yogurt cup, it was ALSO supposed to go in the trash.

I immediately began to mentally count all the yogurts that have been eaten over the past several weeks.

Sherlock fucking Holmes, aren’t I?

Dear Wiggly,

Well, you certainly are busy. There’s a whole lotta kicking, flipping and punching going on in my abdomen and I can now predict when you will be most acrobatic….when I’m ready to go to sleep.

I saw you on an ultrasound screen a few days ago – and you were in constant motion. I’m told this is a good thing, but it makes me tired just watching you and thinking about all the “boy” energy that will enter this house in a few months. Because you are moving in a jerky, involuntary way, you kept hitting yourself in the forehead with your fist – kinda like “Damn! I knew I forgot something!” That was really cute.

You weigh 14 ounces right now and I’ve put on 5 pounds. That doesn’t sound like much, but based on what this little adventure did to me in the first trimester, I’m loving that 5 pounds.

We’re about to start getting your room ready and we’ve bought some of the bedding. People keep asking what the “theme” of your room is going to be and all I can say is “Uh, boy?” because I’m not sure what to do with it. I don’t want to do something like “sports” in case, well, you suck at them. And firetrucks or sailboat or bugs seem less than compelling. So, I think I’m going to do what we did with The Swimmy and make a boy-colored room that will grow to be your toddler room as well. As your talents and interests begin to appear, we’ll add decorations and accessories accordingly.

I showed The Swimmy the pictures from the ultrasound and she thought they were really cool. There was even one with you hitting yourself in the forehead, which she laughed out loud at repeatedly. She is starting to “get” this whole Big Sister thing and it’s funny to watch her wrestle with the concept step by step. She is fully intent on “helping” take care of you – and Dad and I are trying to support that. But we know at some point she is not going to be happy that you have invaded her house.

But don’t worry, The Swimmy is capable of extraordinary amounts of love. Just ask Dodi and Zayde who are all the way in Arkansas right now. You and The Swimmy may not always be best of siblings, but Dad and I know you will both find your way.

That’s all for now – have fun in there and we’ll see you again soon. Oh, and if you can lay off the kicking straight down during important meetings, I’d really appreciate that.

Love,

Mommy

Yes, I’m going to talk about maternity clothes again.

Today, I was on a quest. A quest for pants. Pants that didn’t look like the label should read “Barnum & Bailey”. Pants that were long enough to wear heels with. Pants that could go to work and out at night (‘cause I’m such a night chick these days).

And where are these Magical Pants you ask? My friends, they are at the Gap – from where all pants begin. (Well, Gap or the Gap-related companies.) Amen.

I did stray from the Magical Pants Path once and ended up with pants in a color I desired, but notsomuch on the fit. Some of those Sad Pants are going back tomorrow. I may have saved some jack on them, but saggy asses and bad tailoring are not worth that.

And because of the Magical Pants Happiness Effect, I ventured forth into the land of Enchanted Shirts. These were also surprisingly hard to find. But, I persevered. I trudged on through the hippy patchwork minefield, the Lilly Pulitzer obstacle course and the endless camisole tops. I found two groovy non-work-related shirts, the requisite white Gap t-shirt (that will probably be worn more than anything else), and a very rebellious camouflage tank top – huzzah! (I also may have come home with one slightly out of character floaty, gauzy type thing. Shut up.)

And to top it all off – I found a left over Hanukah gift card to a major department store’s outlet center that just so happened to be having a women’s shoe sale. Wha-pah! Black patent strappy mules! (But DAMN I need a pedicure.)

But, alas, I totally pussed out on one essential item I am soooooo not ready to face: a maternity bathing suit. They were there, but I couldn’t take the shot. I know I’m going to have to because when it’s 800 gafrillion degrees outside my ass WILL be in a pool. And, since “naked” is not allowed at said pool, I’ll need something to cover “naked” up… and somehow be able to look people in the eye.

It is at this point that I become frustrated yet again about not being able to drink while pregnant. No sane person would want to shop for bathing suits in this condition while completely sober. I think I may attempt this purchase via Internet so I can limit the humiliation to me and my bathroom mirror.

Yeah. That’s a good plan.

Can someone explain to me when the 80s became “vintage”? I am not old enough to have my junior high days be labeled “vintage”. And any time that included the phrase “mall bangs” can not qualify as “vintage”. This is what I’m saying.

I am now completely addicted to mini-Tootsie Roll pops. Red preferably. I seem to have found a bag of them that went unused during the unfortunate rained out Halloween 2005…and they are dwindling daily.

In more food-related news, G-d bless Laughing Cow cheese. Are you loving this prenatal diet of mine?

I have recently been reminded that a sneaky bastard will always be a sneaky bastard. However, when that bastard begins to affect my livelihood, he becomes a conniving cocksucker. And he must be punished publicly.

In my ultrasound today, we discovered that Wiggly’s second toe on his right foot is longer than his big toe. I immediately went on a phone call / genetic treasure hunt to find the family member up the tree that had said toe irregularity. Ding! My maternal grandfather! I’m thinkin’ this ends Wiggly’s ballet career (much to Husband’s chagrin).

Must maternity clothing be made out of fire-retardant polyester blends? Can I not get a little cotton up in here?

I am going to clean my oven for the first time ever tomorrow (with some help). I have a strange fear that my next meal will taste like oven cleaner, so I’m thinking of baking a “red herring” meal to trick the oven into ruining a non-meal. Is that twisted?

Happy Monday, all!